


Northern Holiday Lights

by shotboxer



Category: Primeval, Shetland (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: spanking_world, Father-Son Relationship, Kid Connor, Spanking, Stephen Didn't Die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurorae, Anomalies and Adventurous Teenagers, just the ingredients needed for a relaxing holiday up north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northern Holiday Lights

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Spankvent 2015 Prompt Fest on the Spanking_World community on Livejournal  
> For the purposes of this fic, Connor is significantly younger than he is in canon, by about ten years.
> 
> Spoilers: Vague spoilers for events in Seasons 1 and 2 and the beginning of Season 3 of Primeval
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval nor Shetland (both the tv series and the mystery novels by Anne Cleeves), their characters or anything else associated with them. I am making no money from this.
> 
> A/N #1: In real life I only advocate spanking practiced between consenting adults. In fiction I advocate any and all spanking. This fic contains spanking of a teenager by an adult. Don't like, don't read. 
> 
> A/N #2: Any mistakes in Scottish English, UK slang, or my attempt to render Cutter’s accent are entirely my own. Everything I know about the Shetland Isles I learned from a fictional tv series and Wikipedia. This fic was written to entertain, not to be an accurate reflection of ‘the real world’. There may be inaccuracies in geography, culture, science or medicine ahead. You have been warned.

Professor Nick Cutter resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair yet again. He’d already yanked it around so much that he must look like an aging punk who’d lost his hair gel. And it wasn’t helping him find Connor--Connor, who had volunteered to pop down to the shop and get them something for dinner, three hours ago. When his lad hadn’t returned after three quarters of an hour, Nick had started to get annoyed. But he’d assumed that, as teenage boys tend to do, Connor had found a local girl to chat up, or been distracted by some magazine or other, and had lost track of time. Figuring he could have some fun sneaking up on the wayward teen, and knowing that he was much more likely to get both Connor and the food home in person than via mobile, Nick had walked the ten minutes down to the nearest cluster of shops… and been told by the shopkeeper that Connor had never gotten to the shop in the first place. By then, the geek’s former professor-turned-boss, and now adoptive father, was becoming concerned. Mostly though, he was rapidly moving on from annoyed to frustrated and angry. He rang Connor’s mobile, ready to give the boy a piece of his mind about neglecting errands and leaving people waiting so he could hare off chasing some fancy or other, but the call didn’t go through. It didn’t go straight to voicemail; it simply wouldn’t connect.

Nick had actually been enjoying a holiday for once. Granted, he hadn’t taken a proper holiday for years; all of his time off work as an adult could be put into three categories: family obligations -- including the Christmas holidays and New Years, but also births, deaths, and sometimes birthdays, if he happened to be in the area, and his relatives got wind of the fact, thereby obligating him to pull himself away from his work long enough to make an appearance; only the most dire of illnesses; and time spent away from the university, pursuing his own official research or a self-funded side project. But time away just for the fun of it? To enjoy the company of friends and family and maybe go somewhere new and possibly exotic? Not since he was a bairn. And back then, family holidays had been either trips to places that somehow always ended up being relevant to one or both of his parents’ academic specialties, or time spent at half-terms and the summer staying with one set of aunt/uncle/cousins or another, in Aberdeen or out on Fair Isle. And there he was, enjoying a real holiday, with his newly-adopted son, and back in Shetland no less. His job at the ARC, researching the anomalies and wrangling creature incursions from past and future, made for much more varied hours and a vastly more unpredictable schedule than his time as a globe-trotting academic ever had. It was ironic that he had no trouble getting time off for himself and Connor. Of course, there had been the caveat that they could be called back in at a moment’s notice, should the need arise. National, and international, security trumped all the plans of mice and men, and government employees.

Nick and Connor had been staying with Nick’s cousin, Jimmy, and his daughter, Cassie, in Lerwick, the largest town in the Mainland and the whole Shetland Isles, both. Their first four days had been spent catching up and exploring the Mainland and nearby Whalsay, together and apart. Jimmy’s godson, Angus, and Cassie had taken time off from their studies in the afternoons to show Connor around ‘their side’ of the local youth scene. That morning, Angus had taken the ferry back to Fair Isle for the weekend, along with Jimmy and Cassie, who would be visiting Jimmy’s parents over the same time. This had left Connor and Nick the run of the house in Lerwick for the weekend. At the house, they had realized that they had just enough food left to make lunch, and nothing else. So Connor had volunteered to pop down to the shop and get dinner… and been gone an hour before Nick even started looking for his wayward lad.

That had been two hours ago, and despite spending the majority of that time searching around the shops, down into the center of town, and along every footpath within a ten minute walk of the house, Cutter had found no trace of his son. It was all-but dark now, the temperature was dropping rapidly, and Nick was in the rental car, slowly making his way along the roads leading away from town, straining his eyes for any sign of human presence. If he didn’t find Connor on this last pass, he would have to go back to Jimmy’s house and call the police to start an official search. He had spent the entire time he was searching fighting away mental images of Connor lying bloody and broken-limbed at the bottom of a cliff, or drowned, bloated with sea water, glassy dead eyes staring up at Nick from a rocky beach, or smothering to death in some sludgy pit among the peat bogs. Just another mile on this road, and then it’d be time to turn around and make the call that would make Connor a missing person.

As he swung around a slow curve, his headlights swept over a pile of objects on the grass about three quarters of the way between the road and the cliff edge that marked the place where the island ended and the sea began. Jerking the car to the side of the road, Nick ground the gear shift into park and launched himself out of the car, fumbling to turn on his torch and feeling his way across uneven ground toward the pile. He stopped short of the heap and swung his torch in front, tracing the edge of the cliff. His eyes followed the beam, straining for any sign of movement. A pair of hands appeared, clutching the cliff edge, pale digits standing out in stark contrast to fingerless gloves. The hands were followed by heaving arms and a head of long black hair. Nick heard himself yell as he surged forward, stumbling and sliding over the grass to get to Connor. As he ran, he watched Connor’s hands skid in the mud, saw him sliding back over the cliff as he scrabbled in the muck for a purchase that would keep him on solid earth. Cutter dove down, latched onto Connor’s wrists, and hauled, pulling Connor up and over the edge, both of them landing on their knees in the grass. The man gulped air, chest bellowing as he got his breath back; he swooned with relief as he watched Connor do the same. Nick was reaching out for him when Connor raised his face to meet Nick’s eyes, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and gasped, “I think I found one!”

Cutter grabbed Connor’s shoulders and demanded, “Where have you been!?” It took a beat for his brain to register what Connor had just said. His relief catalyzed into incredulous anger, his eyes took in the boy before him. He was pale, soaked through, his skin frigid and clammy against the hand Nick moved to cover the nape of his neck. Nick took a deep breath. “You’re frozen. And drenched. What did you do? Dunk yourself in the sea?”

Nick hauled Connor to his feet, taking off his own jacket to wrap around the lad’s shoulders and pulling him under-arm to shepherd him to the warmth of the car. Connor was babbling, words colliding with each other as he rushed to tell Nick what he’d found. Connor’s sentences were jumbled, some words missing, but from what he caught, Cutter came to understand that his son had disappeared because he’d thought he’d found an **_anomaly_** over the side of a **_cliff_**.

“Connor, I’ve spent the last two hours and more searching all over for you, and all the time you were anomaly-hunting, alone, down a cliff?” His tone must have clued Connor in to the boiling pot of emotions that Nick was barely keeping a lid on, because he broke off in midsentence and seemed to take in where he was for the first time.

“Yes? I wasn’t hunting so much as proving a theory . . .”

“A theory about an anomaly. That you didn’t mention to anyone.”

“No . . .” They reached the car. Nick opened the passenger door and prodded Connor to take a seat inside. He leaned down and made eye contact. Connor’s eyes widened and his expression dropped when he took in Cutter’s glare. He stilled. “I just almost fell off the side of a cliff.”

“Aye.”

“I was sliding. I couldn’t get a grip, and you grabbed me.”

“Aye.”

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

Nick grunted, levered himself up, closed Connor’s door and strode around to the driver’s side, getting in. “Put your seat belt on.” Connor nodded and fumbled with the buckle until Nick reached over and clicked it closed himself. He adjusted the heat to full blast, pulling out and turning toward his cousin’s house. Connor opened his mouth, and was cut off by his father’s tight voice, “Sit there and concentrate on getting warm. You’ll have time to explain yourself later.” The rest of the ride was silent, Nick radiating anger through his rigid frame. He drove with one hand, resting the other on Connor’s thigh, covering the boy’s cold hand.

Connor kept quiet. With the adrenaline rush of the last few hours deserting him, he replayed all that had happened in his head. He was realizing, with increasingly appalled anxiety, just what he had done, and how close he’d come to injury, and to death. He was aware of just how angry with him his mentor and guardian was. He was well for it and he knew it. He was also cold and shaking with fatigue and nerves. Emotions he’d held in check with excitement and concerted self-deception collided with the woes of his chilled and wet body to form a wave rushing forward to unmoor him completely.  Faced with that wave, Connor instinctually defaulted to trying to explain his actions away. “You know, it wasn’t that bad--not really. I know it looked dicey at the end there, but it was mostly, um, manageable, and when you see what I found, it’ll be worth- “

“Connor. Stop. Talking.”

“Right, I’ll just . . . yeah.”

The car pulled up to the house. Nick got out and came around to collect Connor from his seat and escort him inside with one hand on his arm and the other on his back. It wasn’t exactly frog-marching, although it felt like it to Connor. Inside, Nick kept right on going, moving Connor upstairs and along to the bathroom. The teen opened his mouth, stuttering through violent shivering as his body finally started to fight the cold, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, “I-I-I c-c-can d-do-”

“Hush.”

“B-but-”

“I said **_hush_**. Get out of those things, they’re soaking.”

Connor fumbled at his clothes with warming fingers, unable to manage fine motor coordination just yet. Cutter ended up peeling the lad out of the sopping clothes himself. Connor’s mobile fell out of his back pocket with a squelch, obviously ruined by submersion in freezing salt water. Nick grabbed the nearest towel to rub Connor down, carefully wiping away the mud streaking his skin, examining for bruises and cuts. When he got to Connor’s face, he was confronted with mud-caked scrapes and bruises all along the right side, evidence of contact with jagged stone. Nick could hear his teeth creak as he clenched his jaw, reminding himself that, as much as he wanted to, there was no sense in yelling at Connor now. He would wait until Connor was clean and warm and Nick could get his undivided attention. Tossing the towel to the floor, Nick slid past Connor and turned on the shower, testing the water temperature with his hand. “You get in there and warm up. I’ll be back with more towels and some dry clothes.” He gripped Connor’s shoulder, pulled him over to the shower and pushed him carefully under the spray.

Cutter marched off to get the promised items, returning after a few minutes with both them, his eyes radiating vexation from a face set in stone. Connor had taken the time to wash the rest of the mud off of himself and soap up his hair. He was rinsing out the last of the suds when his dad returned. Nick set his armful on the closed toilet and leaned on the wall beside the shower, watching with his arms crossed as Connor continued to rinse himself off. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Connor under the warm spray, trying to decide what he wanted to do more--hide in the warm shower as long as possible, or get out and let his dad take care of him, even if it meant that they were that much closer to the moment of reckoning.

As usual, Cutter cut the boy’s indecision short. He reached in and shut off the water, handing Connor a towel as he towed him out of the stall. Picking up another towel, Nick gently dried Connor, trading that towel for a second so he could do another pass, making sure there was no moisture left to evaporate and chill Connor after he’d just warmed up. That done, he lifted Connor’s chin with his fingers, tilting it so he could get a good look at his scraped-up cheek.

Connor offered, “It’s really not that bad.”

Cutter was not known for his tact, nor for an abundance of patience. He dragged in another deep breath and found a third hand to scrounge up more patience, the first two already engaged in keeping his temper in check. “I’ll be the judge of how bad things are. Get dressed. You and I are due for a talk.” Nick turned and left the room. Connor was confused and very anxious. He’d scared himself badly, and he was scared of Cutter’s reaction. He just wanted all of this to go away. He huffed out a strangled breath and reached for his clothes, something to focus on other than his current situation. His dad had brought him fresh knickers, a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a heavy flannel henley, and thick woolen socks for good measure. For a minute, Connor concentrated only on the lovely feel of dry, warm clothes covering his chilled skin. His reprieve ended when Cutter reappeared, holding a pile of first aid supplies. He set his cargo on the sink and gestured for Connor to sit on the toilet. They remained silent as Nick doctored Connor’s face, his touch gentle against already-swollen tissue that promised some spectacular bruising in the near future. He carefully disinfected the cuts and scrapes, ignoring how Connor flinched from the sting of the antiseptic. He smeared on antibiotic cream and bent in close to press a butterfly bandage over each cut.  Job done, he stepped back and speared Connor with a look. “Alright, lad. Time to have that talk. Let’s go back to your room.” Connor followed along behind Nick and went to sit on the side of his bed. Cutter pulled out the desk chair, setting it across from Connor. Instead of sitting, Nick stepped right up his boy, reached down and pulled a bewildered Connor into his arms. He crushed Connor hard against him, held him fast, and let himself really take in that Connor was with him, safe and sound and in **_so_** much trouble.

Having momentarily satisfied his instinctual need for reassurance, Nick pulled away and pushed Connor back down onto the bed, seating himself in the chair opposite. Time to get down to the heart of the matter. He leant back, folded his arms and allowed himself the luxury of shouting. “Now. Why don’t you tell me where the _bloody_ **_hell_** you were and why I found you dangling over the edge of a bloody **_cliff_**?!”   He watched Connor debate with himself, bracing for a rush of childish attempts to get out of the conversation. Instead, Connor took a deep breath. Connor talked. And talked. As it all came out, Nick was having a hard time not gawping at the lad in disbelief.

As Connor recounted his last few hours, the thrills of his adventure rushed back, yet each sentence brought with it the solid weight of the danger and the fears he’d pushed away. As each word leapt from his mouth it added another pebble to the cairn of sheer reality turning his stomach to lead. Seated across from his fuming guardian, Connor told his story:

Connor had picked up on rumors about mysterious dancing lights along the coast on his first visit to Shetland, to ‘meet the family,’ just after his reunion with the team, and shortly before his adoption by Cutter was finalized. Since then, he’d kept his ear to the ground, and the Internet. So when he had spotted a group of locals around his age on his way to the store, and they’d mentioned that the legendary lights had been spotted again, just yesterday, of course he’d gotten them to show him the place. He hadn’t stopped to give a thought to his errands, or calling Nick to let him know. It would ruin the surprise, after all, especially if Connor were wrong.  The locals had guided him to a bit of coastline carved into a steep, narrow cove, its mouth so choked with jagged rocks and the cliff sides so sheer and slippery that no one had ever dared to try and get inside, not from the sea nor from the land. Standing at just the right spot, Connor had been entranced by the promised shimmer he could see along the cove walls. Convinced that he had found a stable anomaly, Connor had had nothing in his head other than the need to investigate and ‘prove’ his find. He had tramped off up the road to the local electronics shop, which devoted a large amount of its inventory to maritime gadgets and machines. The place was run by an older man who, as often as not, was holed up in the back room, drinking tea and working the crossword, leaving the store unattended. Connor had taken what he needed to rig a series of anomaly-specific sensors ‘on credit’, and cobbled together his gadgets in the field beside the cliff. Realizing he needed something to lower the sensors down closer to the ‘anomaly’, he ‘borrowed’ several ropes out of a boat on blocks in the front yard of a cottage across the road. Armed with his pilfered supplies, Connor ran a rope across the top of the cove, using it like a cross beam, off of which to hang the sensors, each on its own rope. So he could slide each sensor across the rope ‘beam’ to dangle in just the right spot, he leant his body out over the steep drop.  Connor pulled up all the grass along the cliff edge gripping it for balance as he fought to wrangle the sensors into place without sliding over the side. And lo and behold, once he’d got his sensors set, and data started coming back to the base units, the readings could be from nothing other than an anomaly. He’d been right! Connor did a happy dance, shoving aside any nagging thoughts of his near-fall over the cliff. He, _Le Connor Temple_ , had discovered a hidden anomaly! He had the data to prove it!

But he needed to make a visual confirmation too, just to be thorough. He could take a picture with his phone, as proof. He was out of rope, but if he just climbed down the cliff a bit, he might be able to see something. Connor slithered over the edge with his belly in the mud, feet flailing against the rock face as he slid the last bit over, clamping his hands to the cliff edge and taking in a shaky breath as his foot found a hold in the rock. He twisted around as much as he dared, but he still couldn’t see anything. Maybe if he went just a bit further down . . . Connor picked his precarious way down the cliff, scrabbling through three more close calls. Now that he’d committed himself, he was not climbing back up until he got a look at the anomaly he **_knew_** was there. He caught a flash of light in his peripheral vision and turned himself carefully in that direction, and there is was! His anomaly! A gorgeous, shimmering rip in space-time, hanging in the air across from him, magnetized sensors tensed in the air before it. It was **_right there_**.  

Connor had come this far. If he could just grab one of the sensor’s ropes, he should be able to swing through the anomaly. He shuffled sideways, but couldn’t get over as much as he needed. Keeping his eyes fixed on the nearest rope, he shoved away from the cliff, stretching out his hand. He caught the rope and dropped it. He overbalanced, his weight pulling him away from the cliff face. He raked the air with his hand and caught the rope again. Connor clung to the rope, wrapping his legs around it and digging in hard with his heels. Then he was swinging into, and through, the anomaly.   The rope suddenly went slack above him, dropping down to trace a wider arc, moving him farther into the past. He skimmed just above an expanse of ice and snow, sheer ice cliffs rising above him on either side. As the rope reached the end of its arc and began to swing back toward the anomaly, he turned his head to the side. There was an opening, just where the cliff opened up to the open ground ahead, dark enough to suggest a deep cave. The thrill of discovery, of future adventures exploring a whole network of caves under the ice, was smashed as his head collided with the cliff wall.

Connor bounced back on his rope, just managing to put a hand out in time to keep himself from crashing into the rock a second time. Now stabilized, Connor glanced up, calculating his route up the cliff to solid ground. He was carefully transferring his hands from the rope to meet his feet on the cliff when the rope rushed through his hand. He narrowly avoided a sensor bashing his hand as it shot by. One end of his ‘cross beam’ had come loose, leaving the sensors dangling down into the cove from the one remaining end of rope, still anchored to the ground above by a convenient rock. The rope swung back toward him and Connor had grabbed for it, hooking it toward him. He flailed as it wrapped around his arm, pressing back hard to hold himself against the cliff. Settling himself as much as possible in his position, Connor gathered more rope toward him, got a good grip on it, and chucked it as hard as he could up toward the top of the cliff. For once, something went right for him on the first try. The sensors went flying over the top and onto the grass beyond. A loop of rope still hung over the cliff, but it was out of his reach now. Taking a pause to breath, he realized that he was freezing. He’d been aware of the sea spray making its violent presence felt as he climbed and struggled with ropes. Yet he’d been so focused on his goal that he hadn’t really paid it much mind, other than being annoyed that it made it hard for him to see. Apparently, he’d been getting drenched by that spray this whole time. He needed to get back up the cliff.

The scramble to the top was as much an act of willpower as one of available foot holds. He struggled to the top, only to be betrayed by the mud. He was swamped by panic, sliding right back over the cliff, when Cutter’s hands grabbed him and hauled him to safety.

 

Connor had been so relieved to see his dad . . . _Nick_. _Nick_ had said that Connor could call him whatever he was comfortable with, and Connor was very _comfortable_ with Nick. Nick, Professor Nick Cutter, Cutter, had _adopted_ him. And let him back on the team after he’d helped to save Stephen’s life, and kept him on it, despite the many things he’d messed up since then. Nick had kept him on the team after he’d discovered Connor’s true age. He had even started looking after Connor.

Cutter had done some of that before--coming around to skivvy Connor home when he’d been working all hours, or to insist that he at least eat or have a kip in the break room, generally noticing if he’d been under the weather, or upset or distracted by something. But once he knew Connor’s secret, Cutter had become a much more concerted ‘concerned boss’, finding a streak of ‘wet poppa hen’ that had been previously subsumed by work and tactlessness.

Connor had found it all discombobulating… which must have been why he hadn’t been more indignant when his former thesis supervisor had summarily decided that Connor’s bum would be paying the price for any misdeeds from then on. Occasional sore bum aside, Connor had been starting to feel more settled, like maybe he could still be alright, with just the one person knowing his secret, when Cutter had died, apparently shot by his ex-wife, Helen Cutter. Connor himself had been declared dead when he was trapped on the far side of an anomaly for months. Connor finally found his way back to the present to find Cutter was alive and grieving Connor’s own ‘death’. The professor had disappeared through an anomaly himself; Helen had mistakenly shot a Cutter clone she’d made in the future. Connor had still been reeling from Nick’s apparent abandonment and return ‘from the dead’ when Stephen had appeared. Stephen, who had died sacrificing himself for the rest of the team. Stephen, who was suddenly there, alive and well and very much not ripped to bloody pieces and eaten.

Since their ‘reunion,’ it had been a pocked and rutted road for Connor and his teammates. A long, fraught path that had somehow, to Connor’s continual bewildered disbelief, led to his being ‘outed’ as a kid to the entire core team at the ARC, legally adopted by Cutter, and informally adopted by the other members of their team-turned-family.    

Before his mentor’s disappearance and ‘death,’ Connor had only just gotten to the point where he could call Cutter ‘Nick’ when they weren’t on the job without an awkward pause. He remained ‘Cutter’ or ‘Professor’ on the job for professional reasons. That no one else called him anything but ‘Cutter’ during working hours helped. Well, as long as you didn’t count Stephen calling him Nick when he was worried or trying to make a point.   Whatever he secretly called his former thesis supervisor in his head, Connor Temple was not stupid enough to jinx a good thing if he could help it. His treacherous heart could whisper ‘ _Da, Da, Da . . ._ ’ all it wanted; for once, Connor was keeping his head firmly in control. And his head was a trove of past experiences attesting to the fact that you never counted on a good thing lasting more than a little while. That was why it was important to make himself as useful as possible; the more use he was, the longer it would take them to throw him off the team again. He had no illusions that Nick Cutter would be willing to have him back a second time, no matter what he did to redeem himself. Connor did his best to remind himself of these facts of his life on a daily basis. Recently though, he kept forgetting to be cautious. It was his incautious head that had gotten him over the side of a cliff with no rope. It was his incautious heart that was soaking up the affection within Nick’s ( _his Da’s_ ) careful handling, hoarding each sign of love as a bulwark against any misrepresentation of the anger directed his way.

His heart securely tended, Connor rehashed his actions of the afternoon under Nick’s unwavering gaze, and winced. He hadn’t realized just how far outside of the bounds of the established rules—and, if he let himself admit it, of common sense--he’d gotten. Reaching the end of his rueful recitation, Connor choked out, “And that’s when you showed up.” He found himself pinned in place by a look that defied description but communicated three things very well: Nick was boiling mad; Nick was very disappointed in his behavior; and his _Da_ was terrified.

Cutter was shaking. He could not believe just how reckless, careless, how **_stupid_** Connor had been. He was going to spank him six ways from Sunday. He was going to see that Connor learned the error of his ways, and he was going to do it before clutching his Connor to him and never letting go. He’d almost lost his new son. Now that son was sitting in front of him, miserable and scared, and Nick wanted to make all of it go away. But he couldn’t, because Connor had made _himself_ miserable and scared, and almost made himself **_dead_**. Nick had been scared, too, more scared than Connor, and now _he_ was miserable, having to be the one who got Connor to face up to his actions and meted out the consequences. But there were rules and an order of things established between the two of them. And loving Connor meant doing all the hard stuff, doing it consistently and firmly, and being there to pick up the pieces at the end. It was time.

Nick took a moment to breathe steel into his resolve, and then he let go of the temper he’d been holding onto with both his hands and his teeth. “Do you have _any idea_ how stupid that was?! You were almost killed! Several times! What were you **_thinking_**?”

Connor was in turmoil; he could only take so much before he pushed back at the emotions defying his attempts to process them. “I thought I was doing my job! You know, the one where I investigate anomalies?”

“This has nothing to do with our work at the ARC! Since when do we do the job without backup? When have we ever stolen anything? “

“I was _fine_.”

“ ** _‘Fine’_**?! What do ye call nearly being swept out to sea an’ smashed to bits on those rocks? How were ye going to call for help, eh? Yer phone was dead, an’ no one knew where ye were!” Strong emotion thickened his father’s Scottish brogue.

Succumbing to his own fear-fueled temper, Connor grabbed onto what grievances he had easy to hand and used them to fuel the head of indignant steam pushing words out of his mouth. “Since when has my welfare on the job been a priority for you? You almost let that pterodactyl eat me, and that was just a bit of excitement! It's only dangerous when the great Professor Cutter says it is? Is that it? Waves and rocks don't try and have you for dinner, but that's what you're worried about? You should’ve gone into geology, then; you'd have a great line going round to schools and warning them all off beachcombing for life.

“If Stephen, or Becker, or Abby did the same thing, you'd probably pat them on the back and take them out for a pint, but me, poor, incompetent Connor, gets a bollocking for forgetting to wear his water wings in the kiddie pool. It’s not fair!”

Nick knew to expect something like this--Connor’s insecurities were bound to come out over and again; they had already done so in the past; Nick’s lad had been deprived for so long of love from adults, had never had the stability of anyone caring what he did or where he was; he needed to be reminded often and well that he was wanted, and loved, and people cared what happened to him—but understanding Connor’s internal struggles did not mean putting up with Connor breaking the rules, with Connor risking his life, for whatever reason.

Nick needed to quell this uprising before his lad’s issues got in the way of the issues immediately to hand.

“ _Connor_.”

Connor’s words were catching up to him again, but he gave it one last push, “’Long as I come back in one piece, and you get your dino data served up on demand, you've nothing to complain about, have you?”

“ ** _Connor Duncan_**.”

Connor may have never heard his full name before, not in that tone, but he knew it meant deep trouble. And that he should stop digging. Connor shut up.

Nick’s eyes blazed, his breathing flaring his nostrils. His voice was determinedly bland, “I know you know the rules, so you know just how many of them you broke today. But my problem just now isn’t with the rules. It’s with this idea you have that if you yell at me long and hard enough, I’ll wash my hands of you. “

Nick left his chair and crouched down so he was face-to-face with the teenager, taking the young face in his hands and leaning in so he could look Connor in the eye.

“Listen ta me, ma wee lad: I'm no’ going ennawhere—no’ as yer boss, no’ as yer dad--no matter what ye do or say.   And ye're no’ going to dodge around the consequences of yer actions by giving me lip.”

Connor was crying. He could recognize the warmth in his chest as the sensation of feeling loved, yet he was also miserable, and aware of how stupid he’d been, and just how angry Nick was with him. He wanted to run away from all of it, and wanted just as much to run into Nick’s arms and beg to be comforted. Nick chose for him. He kissed Connor on the forehead, wiping away a few tears with his thumbs. He stood just long enough to take a seat on the bed next to Connor and nudge him around so they were facing each other.

Cutter turned the sternest face he could make on Connor. “You went off without letting me know where you were going, or when you would be back. You deliberately withheld information about a potentially dangerous anomaly. You went to investigate that anomaly by yourself, again without letting anyone know. You stole from two different local places. You risked your life using stolen goods to dangle a bunch of jury-rigged sensors over a vertical drop down onto the rocks. You risked your life again climbing down that cliff without a harness or a spotter, and again swinging on an unstable rope through an anomaly when anything and anyone could have been on the other side. You risked being stuck on the far side of the anomaly if it closed, without supplies, in freezing temperatures. Am I missing anything?”

“I don’ think so . . .” Connor gulped. “I’m really in for it, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. What big rules did you break?”

“Uh, the one about always letting someone know where I am.”

“Aye. What else?”

“The one about not doing anything illegal. But if it’s for the job . . .”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence, lad. What else?”

“The rule about taking care of myself? With getting soaked by the waves and all . . .”

“Aye, that one, too. You know better than to go about doing things without the proper equipment.”

“Equipment like climbing harnesses.”

“And waterproofs. Aye. And the biggest rule of all? Hmm?”

“I risked my life when it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“And that’s the biggest rule because?”

Connor had grown increasingly pale and twitchy as the recitation had gone on, tears still running down his face and dripping off his chin. At Cutter’s last question, he curled in on himself, shaking his head and jerking away when Nick reached out to him, shooting to his feet and angling for the door. Nick had no trouble stepping into his path. He caught Connor by the upper arms, being careful to be gentle but firm enough to make it clear that Connor was going nowhere, and walked him back to the bed. Keeping hold of his lad, Nick sat them both back down and turned Connor to face him, lifting the smooth chin and holding it in place with his hand. Using a voice that brooked no argument, he insisted, “Why is it the biggest rule, Connor?”

Connor tried to shake his head again, opening and closing his mouth, whimpering involuntarily, but he couldn’t escape Cutter’s gaze. The teenager held out for a full two minutes before choking out, “Because my life is precious and worth preserving, and because the people who love me would be gutted if I died.”

Cutter nodded, “Aye, that we would. We were. I’m no’ losing you again, lad. _Do you hear me_?”

That got him a nod and more sniffles. Time to get on with it. “You knew exactly how important those rules are, and you went and broke them, repeatedly. You disappeared. You stole. You risked your life. Several times. I am going to spank you for all of it. And for being reckless, careless and disobedient. Do you remember what happens when you break a big rule?”

Connor’s emotional reserves had been down to the dregs before, and now they were gone. Some small part of him was thinking about how he should be calm and mature and take his licks with stoicism and dignity, but he just didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want to be spanked. Even if he knew that what he had been doing broke all sorts of rules, and that breaking rules always meant Nick doling out a spanking, Connor did not want what he knew he was about to get.  He usually got ten each time he lied, and this was so much worse than lying . . . “Please, please, not the slipper, Nick, please . . .”

“Aye, the slipper. You risked your life. There’ll be a good long hard slipper spanking tonight. You’ll be back over my knees bedtime tomorrow to deal with the rest of it.”

Connor was struck dumb, mouth loosening on a wailed “nooooo” as Nick tugged him to his feet. His dad made short work of lowering the track suit bottoms, then maneuvering Connor down across his knees and pulling down his shorts to expose his bare bottom. Connor kept up a steady stream of, “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please no, I’m sorry.” Nick hated to hear the lad’s pleas. He knew that Connor desperately trying to beg off was Connor trusting Nick with his heart and soul, trusting that he could react however he wanted and needed to this spanking, and Nick wouldn’t think less of him or punish him for it. Since their reunion, Cutter had been trying to convince Connor that honest reactions to being taken to task were nothing to be embarrassed about, and that he didn’t have to hide how he was feeling from Nick. And it seemed that, on some level, Connor was starting to believe him. With that thought fortifying his resolve for the task ahead, Cutter pulled his lad up against his stomach, securing him for the coming onslaught, and brought his other hand down with vigor.

When he had to deliver a spanking, Nick Cutter did things a certain way. He always spanked on the bare bottom, starting and finishing with his hand only, regardless of whether the slipper or hairbrush was introduced in the middle. And he began by spanking hard and fast from the start. Once someone was over his knee, that person should know why he or she was there. There was no point in dragging things out with a slow build-up; better to get right down to it and raise a good punishing sting out of the gate.

With a plan of attack fixed in his mind, heart steeled against Connor’s cries, Cutter kept his hand coming down on Connor’s rapidly pinkening bum. Connor was already lost in a flood of tears, so Nick doubted that he noticed when the man deviated from the usual pattern and lightened his swats, making sure to cover every bit of the wriggling bum from crest to the very top of the thighs with layer after layer of quick, sharp smacks. He wanted to build up a solid primer of burning-hot, sore bottom while leaving enough room for Connor to still take the longest, hardest slippering he’d ever meted out.

Connor was lost to reason. He was nothing but the twin sensations of remorse and pain. He lay awash in saline misery, tears pouring out his eyes and down his face. His mind was focused solely on the spanks that were raising the horrible smarting heat in his bum higher and higher. Connor squirmed and kicked with frantic energy. He must have thrown his hand back to protect his bum at some point, because Nick was holding it, broad palm firmly cupping Connor’s hand flush against his side. He was sucking in a wet breath, preparing for another bout of sobs, when he registered the shift in the torso above him and the subsequent pause in the spanking. And then the slipper was connecting with his bare bum, and it was **_horrible_**. Swat-upon-swat-upon-swat detonated on his heated cheeks. The sting bloomed and morphed into a searing burn as it spread like wildfire, ever fiercer, ever hotter. All Connor could do was bawl. He wanted to beg for it to _stop, he’d learned his lesson, please, it was enough_ , but he couldn’t form the words and his bum **_hurt_**. So he bawled, wailing out his pain and fear and all the swirling, confusing, mixed emotions borne of an afternoon of taking foolhardy risks, nothing left in his conscious mind other than ‘oooowwwww.’

Nick Cutter _hated_ himself right now. Listening to Connor howl, holding him tight as he fought to get away from Nick’s heavy hand, pinning the kicking legs between his own to keep him from hurting either of them in his frantic dance, knowing that all of it was caused by what he himself was doing to the lad, Nick **_hated_** it. And he knew he’d hate himself even more if he let things lie without addressing them and Connor suffered for it by a lack of stability and accountability to someone who had his best interests at heart.   He knew Connor. Left without a tangible way to pay for his mistakes, he would stew over how things turned out, dissecting and second-guessing every bit of his own behavior and Nick's responses to it, convincing himself that things weren't the same between them now that he’d messed up again.

So Nick made himself continue; the slipper snapped down to soundly broil Connor's poor bum. Keeping an eye on the state of Connor’s bright red, shiny bottom and an ear on the tone of his wailing, Nick finally judged it enough. With a surge of pure relief, he tossed the slipper away, and set to finishing up the proceedings with his hand, landing firm, slow swats. On Connor’s exquisitely tender bum, they would feel more than severe enough. The change in pace was designed to send a subconscious signal to his caterwauling bairn that things were almost done. Forcing himself through sheer raw will to dole out the full measure of final swats, Nick finally rested his shaking hand. Just as his right hand came to rest, his left was already releasing Connor’s hand and reaching up to rub his back. Nick had to swallow two, three times and blink back his own tears before he could speak.   Nick let the words pour out, soothing Connor with promises of forgiveness and love. Unable to wait more than a minute, Cutter reached down, carefully slid Connor off his lap, and rearranged their limbs so that he could stretch out beside his son and pull him into his arms.   Nick rocked and crooned, holding on as he waited for Connor to cry himself out. The lad clutched at Nick and buried his head in the man’s neck, sobbing and safe in his father’s arms.

It took a long while for Connor to wear himself out, sniffling still as he drifted off from exhaustion. Nick broke out of their embrace just enough to ease Connor's underwear back into place, and to lean across the bed to snag two pillows and tug the duvet and blanket up over them both, settling Connor securely in his arms and relaxing for a good, long, drowsy cuddle.

Connor woke him out of a doze with his squirming, hisses turning to light sobs as the heat in his hindquarters registered. Nick gave Connor a squeeze and rubbed his back. “Easy, lad. It’s done, and I forgive ye. I love ye, I want ye, and I’m no’ going ennawhere, no matter how many rules ye break or how many times I have ye over ma knees.   Ye’re ma bonnie wee lad and I’m keeping ye.” It had taken Cutter a while to work out the right words and to know when to say them. Now, he made sure that Connor heard them after every lecture, every spanking, any time he was confronted about his behavior, and often just because the words felt good to say.

Hearing his dad’s reassurance , Connor collapsed back into earnest crying. He took a deep breath after a few rounds of shuddering, and offered thickly, “’M sorry. Should have told you. I just wanted . . .”

“Just wanted what?”

“I heard you talking to that bloke in the pub, about how you always came up here for summer holidays with Uncle Jimmy and his folks, and you never got to see the Northern Lights, and you’d always wanted to. And I thought since it’s almost winter now, if I found just the right spot, and did my research, maybe we could watch the aurora together . . .”

“Och, Connor . . .”

“And then I got to talking to some local lads about their favorite walking trails and where the best stargazing was, and they mentioned this one place along the coast where you could see this mysterious shimmering light along the cliff wall, like it was coming from down inside this tiny cove.”

“And you thought it might be an anomaly. You wanted to go see for yourself. I get it, lad, I do. I’m the same way, wanting to just get up close and personal and touch, but you can’t just . . .”

“Try and pet a velociraptor?”

“That’s one way to put it. Cheeky.”

“I’m told I come by it naturally.”

“Aye, that could be the case; it does seem to run in the family.”

“It wasn’t to see the anomaly, though; well, yeah, but not just for that.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought if it went to the last ice age, you know, when everything up here was covered with an ice sheet? If the stars’re amazing up here ‘cause there’s less light getting in the way, how much better would the stars be on the other side of an anomaly, with no light at all? And what if we could see the aurora?”

“Oh. Connor, that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s tried to do for me. But you went about it all wrong.”

“But I wanted it to be a surprise . . . suppose I could have called Stephen or Becker . . .”

“Or Danny or Abby or even Lester. “

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t really think. Was stupid.”

“Hmm.”

Nick’s stomach decided to interrupt wherever the conversation was going next with an insistent growl, echoed almost immediately by Connor’s stomach with an even louder one. There was a beat of silence before boy and man burst out laughing. Connor grinned back at Nick as he giggled, breaking off to give a pitiful “oowww” as his bum brushed the mattress. Tears filled his eyes anew. Cutter stood, pulling Connor with him and into another hug. “Up we get. There now lad, just breathe, I know it hurts.”

Connor glanced up at him imploringly, shifting from foot to foot even though he knew it wouldn’t help. “Can’t I have some salve? “

“No. Give it an hour, then you can have some lotion and I’ll put some ice on it for you. You can have the same again tomorrow after breakfast. But there’ll be no salve until after your last spanking.” This pronouncement occasioned a fresh swathe of tears, but Connor was much too sore to argue, not to mention hungry. “What am I supposed to do for an hour, though? I’m hungry now.”

“No reason you can’t read take away menus standing up.”

“Oh. I’d rather not do too much walking right now, or moving at all, actually.”

“I know. You’re still coming down to help me pick what we’re eating.”

Connor limped, hissed and whimpered his way downstairs, calming once he was settled leant against the counter, sorting through the available take-away menus. They decided on Chinese. Nick suspected it was partly because he’d never learned to use chopsticks properly, and Connor found his struggle with the confounded things amusing. He kept his suspicions to himself and ordered a pile of food, answering Connor’s questioning look with, “Leftovers.” Order placed, he ushered Connor back upstairs to lie down so Nick could lay the ice on Connor’s hot bum, a bit sooner than promised.

The ice was melted and Nick just about finished soothing a coat of lotion into the hot, tight skin of Connor’s bum when the doorbell rang. Cutter squeezed Connor’s leg, “I’ll just get the door and set the food up down in the kitchen. You come down whenever you’re ready.” He only had to wait five minutes after the food was set out for Connor to make his way downstairs to join him, still wincing and teary-eyed despite the ice. Cutter passed across the carton of Connor’s favorite lo mein, with chopsticks already sticking out of it, as his lad shuffled over. Leaning over the counter and picking up the frustrating utensils himself, he let Connor watch him fumble and grumble, trying to eat with the things for a few minutes. Ignoring the snickering being unsuccessfully muffled, he gestured at Connor’s own food, “Eat, before it gets cold.”

Connor nodded, “Nothing as bad as cold Chinese takeaway,” and fell to with gusto.

Nick gave it one more try, then admitted defeat and fetched a fork so he could eat his food and not wear it. Catching Connor’s eye, he leaned in. “So, tell me more about what you found out about this anomaly of yours . . .”

Connor took a while to settle down to sleep that night. Once they were both in sleep clothes, teeth brushed and faces washed, Connor stretched out on the bed, sniffling between appreciative sighs as Nick applied another round of the promised ice and lotion. His bum somewhat soothed and his shorts eased back into place, Connor was still restless. He tried to lay still and feign sleep, but Nick was not fooled. He was a seasoned student of animal behavior, and more recently had been working on his doctorate in the rarified study of Connor behavior. Seating himself up against the headboard, Nick Cutter loosened his rusty vocal cords and sang a lullaby his mother had sang to him, and that her mother had sung to her. He fell asleep with his hand carded in Connor’s hair.

And he woke to the sound of the shower running down the hall, and a still-warm hollow in the bed beside him. Nick knew this day was going to be difficult. He might as well get breakfast, and, more importantly, tea, while he waited for Connor to give him a turn at morning ablutions. Connor emerged freshly scrubbed, and, surprise, surprise, ravenous. Nick had combined their leftover soups with eggs to make egg drop hot and sour, and egg drop wonton soup, and served them up plus toast and jelly, and, of course, tea. They ate over talk of the many archeological sites around the Isles, and which of them the pair wanted to see the most while they had time left in their visit.

Connor spent the morning after breakfast arranging for the things he’d stolen to be paid for, with interest, out of his salary from the ARC, and writing apology notes. The notes, payments enclosed, would be mailed anonymously once they returned to London. Connor accepted with only a bit of pouting the announcement that he would not be allowed out and about by himself for week, and then be required to check in regularly on his mobile for a further two weeks beyond that. Nick was under no illusion that Connor’s acquiescence was largely due to the distraction of the spanking he was still feeling, and the one he had yet to receive. He anticipated a much more animated reaction once Connor’s sore bum was no longer taking up all his attention.

Connor also accepted without comment the mandatory training in climbing, abseiling, and safety on sea coasts that Cutter was arranging for him, although he did look crestfallen when he realized that he’d have to take time away from his regular work at the ARC to attend, including being banned from responding to any anomaly alerts that occurred during class time.

Later in the morning, the two of them walked together back to the cliff side to retrieve Connor’s makeshift sensors and what was left of the ropes. Cutter uploaded the data to his laptop, and remotely to the ARC servers, but told Connor that he would have to wait until the end of their holiday to do any ‘ARC work’. When he realized that Nick was serious and would not be swayed by puppy eyes, the lad accepted with good grace, apparently having had a bit too much excitement during his first encounter with the local anomaly to push the matter.

Connor was still exhausted enough from his exertions, and likely still getting over his case of exposure, that he fell asleep on the couch in front of the fire, wrapped in two layers, plus a hand knit wool blanket, courtesy of Jimmy’s mum and Nick’s Auntie Mary. Cutter let him be, stoking the fire as needed and using the time to catch up on his reading of journal abstracts.

Connor’s breathing had evened out into sleep a while ago when Nick came to the end of his reading. He stood and bent to turn off the reading lamp beside his chair. Connor murmured in his sleep, unintelligible sounds. “Da . . .”

Surely he’d heard wrong. “Da, mmm, Da, please . . .”

Nick Cutter turned to look down at his son in wonder, “ _Daaaa_ . . . please, Da, m’sorry, don’ leggo . . .”.

“Alright, laddie. Tis alright. M’here. You’re no’ in trouble. I’ve got ye, Da’s right here,” Nick knelt at Connor’s side, touching his back until he subsided back into peaceful sleep.

He roused Connor for a lunch of, what else, leftover Chinese takeaway. They chatted over their food, Connor filling Nick in on some of the local lads he’d been getting to know and Nick catching Connor up on the latest (inadequate) state of paleontological research over the washing up. Once the last dish was dry, Connor proposed, “ And maybe we could go scouting a bit nearby for a good spot to see the stars after dinner.”

“You and I have other business to attend to then.”

“Ah. Can’t believe I forgot. How stupid is that . . .?”

“’Twas good you were distracted. M’not doing this to be cruel, lad. No sense in torturin’ yourself with fretting about it the whole day. “

“I’d say it’s kinda hard not to think about it, but . . .”

“Aye. One sore bottom’s enough to be focusin’ on at a time. Let me worry about the one’s that’s comin’.”

“I know you said it’d be at bedtime, but I’d rather get it over with. Please?”

“Alright. We can get it done. But Connor, I’ll not be going any easier on you, you understand?”

“Uh huh.”

“Come along, then.” Back upstairs they went, back to the familiar positions, sat side by side, facing each other for the reckoning.

Connor blew out his cheeks, “Phew. Careful what you wish for, hunh?”

“Connor.”

“Sorry.”

Voice stern and expression grave, Nick caught his lad’s eye, “You got the slipper for risking your life last night. I am going to spank you one more time, and then we’ll be done. All dealt with and over.”

“Ok . . .”

“Care to tell me what more we’ve left to deal with?”

“Nnuhhh . . . uuuh, nooot calling and letting you know where I was . . . and stealing.”

“And not telling anyone what you were thinking about there being local anomalies, nor calling anyone else in the family if you didn’t want to tell me about it. You know as well as I do the kinds of dangers an unmonitored anomaly can pose if people stumble across it. We monitor for signs of them and _report them_ for a reason. Not only did you not let me or anyone know about your change in plans, you neglected to keep your mobile safe so you _could_ call me. Doing that made sure there was no way that anyone could come to rescue you while you _risked your life_. No one knew where you were, and no one had any way of knowing where you were. That I found you in time to save you was dumb luck. Not having a way to call for help in a dangerous situation is a way of risking your life in itself. “

“ . . . in itself. Yeah. “

“Alright. Ye know what you did wrong. You risked your life. I know you didna’ plan to; ye didna think. And that is the only reason why the slippering you’ve already gotten will do for dealing with that.” Nick leaned in and deepened his voice, “Let me be verra clear, lad. If you ever risk your life, and I find out you knew the risks beforehand and went and did it anyway, there will be nothing on this green earth, past, present _or_ future, that will get you out of going over ma knee every night for a week, starting off with the slipper. Do ye understand?”

Connor’s huge eyes bobbled in his head as he nodded, “Uh hunh.”

“Good. I am going to spank you for stealing, for being careless of the rules, of how I would feel if I couldn’t reach you, and for being careless _with your life_.”

Any bravado that Connor may have been hoarding had been used up during his dad’s speech and he was reduced to shaking his head, tears welling as he tried to deny what he knew was about to happen. Ignoring Connor’s plaintive, “’M sooorry,” Nick hauled him down over his knee, skinned his clothing out of the way, and launched into the proceedings.

Given the state of Connor’s bum, lotion and ice notwithstanding, the lad was in tears in seconds, crying out his remorse within a minute. With all that he had just said in mind, Nick worked not to stint on Connor’s final punishment. Gritting his teeth against his son’s immediate wails, Cutter kept his hand pistoning over the proffered bum. The swats were relatively light, relying on Connor’s pre-roasted, tender bottom to provide the added sensation needed to stoke the heat in his hindquarters back toward the furiously seared height it had reached under the slipper.   Throwing his own leg over Connor’s pinwheeling ones, Cutter prepared for a long spanking that should make Connor feel he had been very soundly chastised for his misdeeds.

Between a tender bum and a tender heart, the sobbing Connor was unaware of any change in pace or intensity. All he knew is that he was getting spanked, it _hurt_ , and he was _sorry_.

After several minutes, Nick finally rested his hand on Connor’s heaving back and waited for his son to realize they were done. Weeping unabated, Connor turned his head back to look toward Nick, who took his cue and scooped the boy up and to him. In his haste, he forgot to lift his leg off of his Connor’s, sending them sprawling back onto the mattress in an unbalanced tangle. Nick just managing to bring Connor down on top of him and cushion the impact. Connor’s sole response to the precipitous change of position was to attach himself to his father and clamp on with a vice grip. His embrace was heartily returned by an engulfing bear hug. Nick held on to his son, his _safe_ , _whole_ , son . . . “All done. I’m here and I’m no’ goin’ ennawhere. Ye’re forgiven. I love ye, I want ye . . .”

 

Nick applied the yearned-for salve that night and again in the morning before breakfast. With Connor able to move around in relative comfort at last, they spent the second day after Connor’s stunt exploring the walking trails they had plotted out as taking them by the Mainland’s most interesting prehistoric sites. As their day out wound down, the geek and the paleontologist decided that, since neither of them had any desire to eat more Chinese food, they would dine out instead. They were coming back from having dinner and a pint (of soda, in Connor’s case) at the local pub, when they saw an unfamiliar rental car parked in front of Jimmy’s house. Connor glanced at Cutter, noting that the front door was ajar, but relaxed into a grin when he heard familiar voices coming from inside the house. Sure enough, Stephen and Becker were in the kitchen, surrounded by Chinese takeaway cartons and kit of all sorts. Stephen gave them a wave, Becker turning to Connor with, “I hear you survived a run-in with both a cliff and a Cutter.”

Connor was concentrating so hard on formulating a suitably snarky comeback that he missed his de facto older cousin’s approach and found himself suddenly in a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re alright, coz. Next time, you better call me, though; I hate to miss out on all the fun.”

“That goes for me, as well. Good to see you in one piece, mate,” Stephen affirmed, while pulling Connor into a hug of his own.

Disarmed and bashful over the affection, Connor shifted the focus to the obvious, “So, what are you doing here, and what’s all the stuff?”

Cutter sidled over to stand next to their visitors. “Well, you see, these two fine gentlemen may have gotten wind of a very intriguing anomaly in this vicinity-”

Stephen cut in, “And we just couldn’t pass up the chance to explore-”

“So we brought the winter camping kit,” finished Becker.

Connor gaped at them, “Wait, winter camping? We’re going camping, through the anomaly?”

Cutter was grinning like a Cheshire cat, “Aye. Better hurry and get changed into our gear, if we want to get the camp set up before dark.”

Connor whooped and punched the air. “Yes! Ice Age camping! This is going to be _brilliant_! Wait, where’s the gear?”

An hour later, they were at the anomaly site, carefully running a very heavy and secure platform across the top of the cove, from which they lowered a sturdy rope ladder down through the anomaly. An hour after that, they were putting the finishing touches on their camp, located in the mouth of what had, in fact, been a cave that Connor had spotted earlier. Settling down in front of their small fire, they lounged on blanket-covered pillows, laid out on top of reindeer skins, themselves on top of waterproof tarpaulins. Their backs were bolstered by mounds of more pillows arrayed against folding camp stools. Cutter and Becker flanked Connor, with Stephen on Cutter’s other side. Stephen leaned over Nick and tossed Connor a bag. “Here you go, kid. S’not a proper camping trip without marshmallows to toast over the fire, is it?”

Cutter laughed. “Oh, I agree. Marshmallows are definitely in order. But where are we going to get sticks to toast them on? “

Becker leaned over from Connor’s far side, solemnly presenting a bundle of perfectly shaped sticks. “Action men are always prepared for all eventualities… especially the ones involving marshmallows.”

This set Connor to outright bouncing on his pillows. All four of them shared the awe and excitement of being in the past, being the first, and only, human eyes to take in the alien landscape. Connor had refused to learn to tamp down his excitement to an ‘acceptable’ level, and his enthusiasm was infectious. With no professional obligations and no creatures or civilians to keep watch for, the hunter, the professor and the soldier were blissfully free to join their youngest teammate in open enjoyment.

Cutter snatched the sticks from Becker, met his mock glare with a sly grin and declared, “I should really hang on to these; as team leader, I feel it is my duty to make sure they are used responsibly. We can’t have people waving sticks around an open fire if-” and was cut off by Stephen tackling him from the side.

“Get them, Connor, he can’t be trusted; he just wants to keep all the marshmallows for himself!”

Connor snatched up the sticks, chortling. He held them up in the air, away from Nick and Stephen, who were engaged in a playful wrestling match, each trying to keep the other from reaching up and getting the sticks from Connor. Nick lunged toward Connor, feinting high, only to dive to the ground and scoop up the marshmallows laying forgotten at his feet. Nick crowed, “Now I’ve got you! Just how badly do you want these marshmallows, kiddo?” The last sentence came out choked with erupting laughter, as Stephen once again attacked. This time, his friend changed tactics and began running his fingers along Nick’s sides, tickling mercilessly, with Nick unable to let go of the marshmallow bag to retaliate.   Then there was another bag of marshmallows waving in front of both of the combatants’ noses, attached to a smirking Becker.

The soldier’s smile suddenly disappeared as the marshmallows were snatched from his grasp, filched by Connor, who danced away laughing, waving the sticks in one hand and marshmallows in the other. “Right, now who’s got the goods, huh? Just how badly do you three want gooey, delicious, toasted marshmallows? C’mon, ante up!” Becker lunged at him, making to snatch the sticks. Emulating Nick, he dived down low, catching a yelping Connor at the knees and hoisting him over his shoulder. The captain spun in a circle or two, laughing along with their geek as he flailed and gasped out demands to be put down.

The three men shared a look, and Cutter spoke up, “Well, if he wants down so badly . . .”

“Bring him over here, we’ll take the little stick hoarder,” Stephen said.

“One marshmallow thief, on his way,” Becker dropped to his knees, spilling Connor off his shoulder directly on top of Stephen and Nick, who fell to, tickling Connor as he writhed with laughter, batting at their hands and impotently trying to block Becker from diving into the fray to muss Connor’s hair with gusto. Eventually the mayhem calmed and they subsided onto the pillows, sides heaving with leftover chuckles while they got their breath back. Unsurprisingly, Connor got to his feet first, choosing a stick and fitting it with not one, but two marshmallows, passing out the remaining sticks without looking as he stretched his own stick carefully over the flames. After each camper had consumed several marshmallows, Nick decided that they ought to balance things out a bit, lest a sugar crash interfere with future stargazing, and levered himself up to find and bring back the rest of the food they had packed for the occasion, distributing thermoses of tomato soup and watching as Stephen took out the cheese sandwiches and put them into what looked like two wire racks hinged together. Their friend held the frame over the flames, toasting the sandwiches like they had the marshmallows. For a while, the only sounds were slurps and munching as they relaxed under an ancient sky, watching the stars come out. The second bag of marshmallows was opened and toasted, fuel carried from the present carefully added to the fire.

Cutter and Connor snuggled together, hemmed by family members on either side, all four of them sharing the same blankets. They gazed at the stars, each contributing their own impressions to ‘what does that group of stars look like to you’, smiling and joshing over the imaginary shapes they traced in the heavens. Nick couldn’t remember how they got on the topic, but he and Becker and Stephen ended up trading stories of their worst attempts to talk themselves out of trouble. Connor egged on the informal competition by oohing and aahing and injecting sage advice like, “Yeah, that one would’ve never worked, too vague,” and, “That is why you avoid the grannies altogether. Terribly hard to fool, are grannies, near impossible, like getting a Tyrannosaur to go veggie.”

Things reached a natural ebb, Connor’s fount of lofty pronouncements on all things trouble trickling to a halt. Nick figured they were close to calling it a night. He turned to reach behind them for the flasks of hot chocolate. Hands dug into his arms from both sides, Connor insisting, “Look!” as Stephen hissed, “Nick!” in his other ear. He turned back, afraid that there was some creature out here with them after all. Instead, a shimmering curtain of green undulated its way across the sky above them: the aurora borealis.

Nick took Connor’s hand and pulled him close. “Just as you wanted, lad. The northern lights. The first time I see them, after all these years wishing, I’m with you and my brother and a dear friend, on Shetland . . . millions of years in the past.” He gave Connor a poke. “Bloody _brilliant_! Thank you, Connor.”

Connor blushed a happy pink under the collar of his parka. “Welcome. Promise I’ll find a way to do it without throwing myself off any cliffs next time. With, you know, help.”

Becker nodded. “Help is good. I am going to help us to some hot chocolate now. I hear it goes well with the aurora.” Cutter accepted his hot chocolate and leaned back, his head resting on top of Connor’s, their eyes gazing upward, watching the holiday lights dance across the sky.


End file.
